


And When You Leave, They're Still as Stone

by Antrodemus



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9478088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antrodemus/pseuds/Antrodemus
Summary: A couple of pet theories (all right, hypotheses) of mine. I have not climbed to the edge of canon, so it might very well not be so (I got my daughterHarry Potter and the Cursed Childfor her anniversary, but she has yet to lend it to me. Curséd, er, child), but I thought I'd explore them.





	

Harry stirred his tea as Arabella Figg bustled about the kitchen. She took a deep breath. "Harry, I'd like to show you something." There was the sound of a drawer opening, and she brought a small photo album the table. 

Harry schooled his face to keep absolutely still. He had thought the cat photos were a ruse to throw off the Dursleys, but... Oh, Merlin's beard. How could he face another second of cat photographs? And this was always the first one she dragged out. She'd keep it on her lap, and they never got to it. "This is a _very special_ album," she'd simper. "You haven't been good enough to look at these pictures. Maybe next time, hm?" And she'd smile, oh horrors, that insipid smile of hers, and look into it herself, and beam until she misted up with tears, and Harry would be very grateful indeed that he had misbehaved if the old bat thought those pictures were so... special.

To Harry's surprise, she burst out laughing. "Oh, Harry! The look on your face. I shall have to teach you cards, I could buy my babies a Firebolt apiece with the money I'd win off what you think is a poker face."

Harry grinned. "What is it, then?"

She opened the book at a marked page near the middle and turned the book to him. "You tell me."

Harry blinked at the figures smiling and waving at him. "It's..."

"Yes. The Order of the Phoenix. Yes. And here's your mother and father. I gave Rubeus---- that's Mr. Hagrid, the tall fellow with the scruffy beard--- a copy of that to give to you, did you get it?" Harry blinked back tears. "Yes, thank you," he said, and met her eyes. Arabella was craning her neck to see what Harry was looking at. Most of the witches and wizards were strange to him, but there was Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moony, Albus and Abelforth Dumbledore... Peter Pettigrew waving his fingers smarmily at the camera, the men Harry knew to be Molly's Weasley's brothers caught rough-housing, McGonagall scowling at the camera... And oh! His mother and Alice Longbottom, pressing the fabric of their robes to reveal barely-mounded baby bellies, the blushes rising on their faces visible even in black and white. Mrs. Figg pointed, reeling off names. "That's my mother. She lives in Iceland now. Studies volcanoes. And that..." Her voice took a little hitch. "...that's Mr. Figg. He was made an example of early on." Harry decided not to look up. He knew her eyes would be wet, and somehow he didn't want to see. A babyfaced man in a leather jacket tucked what appeared to be an ancient blunderbuss under his and looked up at them like he was seeing a window open to sunlight after weeks of gloomy darkness. "Mrs. Figg!" Harry exclaimed in delight. "Who'd have thought it!" 

"Well, yes," she said, her voice sounding thick and muffled. "Something you ought to know about girls who like cats, Harry. They always love the wild things that won't be broken."

Harry opened his mouth. "I know what you're going to say, Harry. Dolores Umbridge hated cats. Used to transfigure kittens into china saucers, but leave them aware to go slowly mad in their tiny prisons as she watched. We're rehabilitating the poor things, Minerva and I, but I can't say but that dozens of them made it to the rubbish heap before we were able to liberate her collection." Harry's eyes widened in horror. "She actually told me about them. Dared me to do something about it. Well, I did, Harry! If only she didn't wait until she was in such a position of power to tell me, the horrible little bully. Even a Squib will find a way to fight great evil, and we don't have the limitations of relying upon charms and potions and whatnot to do the work before us. Dolores Umbridge spent the final battle of Hogwarts learning about the wonderful Muggle inventions known as 'zip ties' and 'duct tape.' Oh, and chloroform. Burnt her nostrils something terrible." She clucked her tongue in false sympathy. "I mean, in case you ever wondered." 

Harry thought his grin could not get any broader. "Mrs. _Figg_!" he repeated.

"Anyway, Harry, this is the other reason I was so short with you sometimes." She inhaled. "You see, magical photographs only come to life when there are wizards about. Oh, I'm sure you know that---"

"I didn't!" Harry interrupted. 

"Really? Haven't you ever wondered why more Muggles don't turn up waving scraps of newspaper that started winking at them when they wrapped the fish and chips?" 

"It honestly hadn't occurred to me, really," Harry said, ducking his head. "And you're..."

"Yes. A Squib, you can say it, it doesn't hurt anymore. Well, not much. Certainly not when I can see my Aethelred smile at me again, because you're around the house. If I took this to Hogwarts in the middle of a Quidditch game, I reckon he might have something to say to me out loud, this paper's fine enough. Miss Muffaletta, that will be quite enough of that, you'll get fur all over his trousers!" she reprimanded the young cat twining her tail about Harry's legs.

"Mrs. Figg..." Harry stood up and swept the astonished woman into a hug. "Thank you." 

She scoffed. "Oh, that's quite enough, you. For years, you gave me everything I saw of... everyone. I owe you for that. And nothing can make up for those horrible biscuits I had to force on you. Only..." 

"Only?" Harry asked.

"Well, I know you're busy these days, but I would like it so very much if you would drop by and look at photographs with an old woman? For old times' sake. You could bring your lovely wife, how is she?" 

Harry smiled. "That would be lovely, Mrs. Figg."


End file.
